


Grief

by Tom_Tomorrow



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, Five Stages of Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, especially kara
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-05 07:53:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10301612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tom_Tomorrow/pseuds/Tom_Tomorrow
Summary: A mission goes awry. The team is left reeling in the aftermath.(A story from five different points of view, detailing five different reactions, and five different stages of grief.)





	1. Denial

Maggie Sawyer

 

Denial.

She isn’t there when it happens. 

None of them are really. 

Not Alex.

Not J’onn.

Not the media. Who pick like vultures over the sparse scraps of information and run with it. 

No matter how misconstrued the information is.

They’d been split up amongst the various Cadmus sects.

Struggling to put out another fire with roots that threatened to purge the ‘scourge’ of alien species from American land. 

It was a battle that they’d needed desperately to end in triumph not calamity. 

They had needed a win. 

They had needed it.

Because Cadmus had come out of the shadows, had grown a pear, had become more willing to assert their power.

Consequences and fatalities damned. 

And those consequences and fatalities had increased exponentially within the recent weeks.

The organization had been pulling everyone apart at the seams for months now.

Wheedling its way into every nook and cranny of their professional and personal lives.

Stretching them thin.

And they can’t save everyone. 

Not even Supergirl.

And all of them, with every life lost, take it hard. Take it personally.

And work themselves even harder as some form of twisted retribution. 

Because everyone reaches that point eventually. 

The point in which they’d reasoned that if a victim can’t go back to a warm home and soft bed, then they themselves had no right.

So they’d all been running on fewer and fewer hours of sleep. 

Trying to put out fire after fire.

Trying to find that one weakness to exploit.

Trying to find the point when it would all just stop.

When they could be afforded a break in the city with the impossible crime rate.

In the city that never slept.

The night it happened, she’d been running on barely three hours. 

And she doesn't sleep for a good while after. 

Thinking of everything that had happened. Worrying. 

Kara had been the one to suggest it. 

That the only way to beat CADMUS was to fight fire with fire. 

Go to them, instead of waiting for CADMUS to come to them. 

But they couldn’t reach a consensus. No one could settle on any logistics.

So they argued over it. Over and over and over. Until it became the only option.

And when the night’s events come to a close, she would want to shoot herself for ever agreeing.

.. … … ….

Day 1 

It turns into a firestorm within minutes.

Instigated by a group who would rather go down with the cause than be taken of their free will. 

They make it a joint case.

It’s the only way they can get complete jurisdiction.

They’d been walking on eggshells with the government ever since they’d overstepped bounds on the last CADMUS related case.

It’s also the only way they can get Maggie involved.

She and her fellow compatriots make up the Delta Team.

DEO agents compose the C Unit.

Alex and J’onn and Agent Vasquez and a few others make up the Beta Unit.

Winn takes point from the DEO facility. 

And the golden trio make up the Alpha unit.

Mon-el, Clark, and Kara.

A formidable trio of sorts.

One for the superhero cards.

One for the comic books.

One for the media to salivate over.

It’s supposed to be easy.

Supposed to be.

“No! Nononono-”

Maggie registers Kara’s voice in her ear this time.

A stark difference from the joking banter that had dominated the lines earlier.

Confusion. Shock. Anger? 

Then the blonde’s resounding scream blows across the comms.

It’s anger then. 

Pure, unadulterated rage. 

Overpowering all the side conversations transmitting through the comm links.

Bringing the other voices to an instant stand still. 

The detective has never heard that degree of fury from the younger Danvers before.

Maggie winces at its ferocity, at its rawness as she unloads another clip into a CADMUS agent that rounds the corner.

Those few seconds are all it takes for the voices spring to life again.

Trying, questioning, demanding information.

Speaking over each other in a flurry of discern. 

“Supergirl! Mon-el! Superman! Status report-“

J’onn with his stern, steady authoritative calmness.

Even in the face of clear uncertainty. 

“Oh god. Oh my god…”

Winn sounds sick. Queasy. 

In shock.

The detective can almost picture him at his desk.

Wide eyes. Frozen still. 

“Supergirl! Winn, what the hell is going on?”

Alex’s voice is the loudest.

Rings the truest.

But there is no answer.

Not from any of them. 

There is a silent, but defining loudness in the lack of coherent response.

And as quickly as the screaming starts, it fades suddenly.

Her com must have fallen out. 

Because she can still hear Kara. 

Can hear her anger. 

Her fury in the distance.

Through someone else’s coms.

But why aren’t they answering?

The detective leans back, let’s the rest of DEO squad cover her as she tries to pick out any noise from the silent lines.

“-can’t access the video feed. There’s something overridi-“

“We have to get over there-”

“That’s a negative, Agent Danvers! B-team leader report-”

Then she hears it.

Just barely over the ricocheting bullets and frantic relaying of words by the other units. 

A soft, pained gasping.

Gurgling and wet.

Labored. 

That could be anything, she attempts to reassure herself.

It could be a CADMUS agent.

It could be anyone.

It doesn’t mean what it could allude too. 

“Delta-Team leader report! Sawyer!”

She snaps back to focus. The gasping fades as J’onn’s voice takes precedent.

He’s asking for status. Questioning availability for backup. All the other units must be preoccupied. 

Including Alex’s. And Maggie knows how frustrated that must make her.

“Delta-Team is accounted for. We’re almost done here. We can be en route in five.”

The small group of police officers under her guidance shift on their feet nervously.

Maggie knows what they’re thinking. The same thing she is.

What good can they possibly do?

If Alpha team wouldn’t come in, what would a couple of officers be able to do?

The fine hairs on Maggie’s arms stand on end, and there’s a strange tingling at the base of her neck.

And somehow she knows before she even gets there, how bad it’s going to be.

Yet still, she agrees and J’onn returns to barking orders at the other units. 

And Alex seems to be attempting to coax an answer out of Winn.

Her girlfriend seems oddly calm. 

But she remembers this is how Alex always in these type of situations.

Remembers that she’s probably panicking on the inside.

The sound of gunfire echoes in her ears as they move forward.

Navigating the twists and turns of the hallways that make up the maze of a facility.

And when Kara’s anger-filled screams fade completely.

There are no words…

The detective smells it before she sees anything.

The putrid aroma. 

Because nothing is unmistakable as the smell that infiltrates her senses now. 

Nothing is as unbearable, as horrifying, as unforgettable as the smell of burning flesh.

The love child of burnt cat fur, rotten eggs, smoky sulfur and the coppery aroma of blood. 

The putrid odor of seared meat sweeps over her unit like a shock wave.

Makes their eyes burn.

Makes them gag.

And that odor, that acrid odor of burnt bone and half-cooked blood, it only grows stronger as they approach where Team-A last initiated contact.

And Maggie knows only one thing that can burn so quick, so final. 

Heat vision. 

It doesn’t mean what it could mean. It doesn’t mean…

A dull thunk, like rock hitting dirt, is vaguely audible.

The sound rings solemnly, but consistently, like the muted toll of a funeral bell. 

Somewhere in the distance. 

Growing louder as they grow closer. 

Her unit levels their weapons, rounds the corner that the Alpha Unit had last initiated contact form with extreme precision and speed, ready to fight, ready to go in guns blazing.

Instead, smelling of ozone and charred flesh, is a ring of at least forty CADMUS agents, blistered and burnt black.

Flayed, stripped bare and laid recklessly open.

Limbs barely attached, torn, strewn, ripped apart with out discrimination.

Unknown faces twisted into ghastly expressions. Sightless eyes, bulging with deadened fear.

Waxy flesh melting away from the muscle that anchored it, fusing with charring cloth and warm concrete. 

Mixing, coagulating into soupy gravy.

Oh god. 

God. It’s a blood bath.

There’s a distant sound of retching behind her.

One of them, Collins from the sound of it, can’t stomach the sight.

Nausea swells up within her. 

Her jaws clamp together as it tries to find an exit.

And the detective’s grip on her service weapon tightens.

Until she’s holding on so tight, her knuckles turn white.

“Delta Team Leader report!”

J’onn again. Sounding vaguely out of breath as he yells over the gun fire on his end.

She opens her mouth to respond, but somehow the words are lost. 

Smothered by the bulging eyes, the twisted mouths, the charring bone. 

Stolen from the distracting, methodical thunks in the distance.

The echoing gunfire. 

The sparks flying from torn wires and sputtering machines, overturned and shattered in the disarray.

Another officer takes over for her. Mathis. 

And he doesn’t fair much better.

“They’re dead… All the CADMUS agents. It’s… They killed them all.”

The words are uttered in awe, in shock, in pure disgust.

And now that he’s said them, it is real.

No matter how unbelievable it sounds.

As the faces of Honor and Justice, Kara and Clark have an honor code.

They don’t kill. They never kill. Only aim to incapacitate. 

Only aim to hinder. 

Because it was complicated being a superhero.

It was complicated being put on a pedestal like that.

On top of being an alien in constantly shifting world views.

It would most likely end in a witch hunt if someone had died at the hands of an indestructible alien.

So they often left killing to a last resort. 

So what is this?

The other officers begin to secure the massive area of the ventricular room.

There is a lot she can’t see from the entrance.

Everything’s uprooted, overturned, scorched. 

The twists and turns are more than enough to make the entire process a considerable effort. 

“What? Where’s Supergirl? Where are they?”

It’s Alex. She sounds winded. She sounds worried. 

More so than the last time. 

As if she’s acknowledging for the first time that this is more serious than she initially wished to believe 

“I….”

She surveys the carnage from the entry way. 

She can’t see much. 

Everything thing is muted.

The lights flickering above them.

The walls crumbling around them.

Rooms she hasn’t even been able to look inside yet.

“Officer Sawyer!”

Officer Matthis yells her name from a few yards away. Half hidden, kneeling just behind an overturned control panel. 

One that was previously bolted to the ground. 

His tone carries enough panic, enough worry, for her to drop her conversation with Alex.

Enough panic to lower her gun. To run over. 

She freezes at the sight. 

Mon-el.

The normally rambunctious alien, lay limply amongst the carnage.

Thick rivulets of crimson pooling around him.

Seeping from him.

Gushing, pouring weakly from his chest.

Just to the left of his sternum, just below his collar bone.

And he’s gasping, wetly and futilely, struggling to take in air.

Mathis is above him. Hands pressed tightly against the Daxamite’s chest. 

Trying to stop the bleeding. Trying to stop the goddamn crimson.

But the blood is soaking through in rapid spurts. Dousing his uniform with crimson.

Flowing thickly over Mathis’s fingers.

Dribbling down the sides.

“We need a medical evac, now! Mon-el’s down. He’s been shot.”

Those words open a whole other can of questions for those on the other line. 

For those who aren’t with them now. 

But she can’t focus on answering them right now.

Maggie holsters her gun. Gets down to her knees. On level with the injured Daxamite.

His lips are turning blue.

His teeth are speckled with red, chattering viciously as watery blood dribbles at the corners of his mouth.

And his eyes meet hers. Wide with pain. With shock. With fear. A plethora of emotions.

“Muh- Maa- M-m-mag Magu-”

He’s trying to say her name.

Trying, but failing. 

She surveys him for more injuries. 

Finds another wound on his leg, and another in his arm.

All seeping more than enough crimson. 

“Mon-el, listen to me. You’re going to be fine. Help is coming. So stay awake okay? You have to stay awake.”

The Daxamite groans.

Offers a weak, barely decipherable nod.

But his eyes are dancing. Rolling in their sockets. 

Somewhere in the vestiges of her mind she remembers he’s allergic to lead.

Damnit.

To Mathis she’s more firm, more authoritative.

“Get Collins and Andrews to help you move him towards the entrance. A med evac team should be on the way.”

~ thunk thunk thunk ~

What the hell is making that sound?

Over the lines, her authoritativeness wavers, worry seeping through. 

“He was shot three times. He’s loosing a lot of blood. What’s the ETA on the medical team? Winn? Winn!”

“Estimated t-time of arrival is… is five minutes.”

He sounds hollow. Empty. Shell-shocked.

But she doesn’t have enough time to question it. 

She’s up again, gun in hand, moving away from Mon-el, stepping over bodies, and machinery, and weapons.

“Maggie. Where is Kara? Where is Clark?”

Alex again. The waver in her tone is noticeable. 

The sound of artillery fire on their end seems to have eased. 

A few shots here and there. The Beta team seems to be wrapping up.

Maggie glances around the arena-like room. 

Scouring the area for the familiar red and blue suits.

Three other officers are right on her heels. 

The catastrophic mess is only enunciated. 

Plaster is tearing from the walls.

Ceiling tiles hang from the floor above them.

Revealing the warped metal support beams within them.

Where are they? Where are they?

“We’re securing the facility Alex. When I see them I’ll-“

Maggie turns the corner. 

And stumbles right on him.

The uniform is unmistakable.

The insignia even more stark.

It’s him.

There’s a neatly pierced hole in the back of his head. 

A mess of mashed pumpkinesque brain matter spills out of a gaping hole just above his right eye. 

A mess of yellow sticky pus and half-clotted blood and oozing spinal fluid.

She recoils. 

It’s him.

It’s Clark. 

He stares at her with an empty gaze. 

Far removed from the amused, confident glint they’d held only hours before.

There’s no life in his eyes. 

His chest isn’t moving.

His fingers aren’t twitching.

He’s gone.

But it isn’t possible

“Mother of god…”

One of the officers murmurs. 

“Sawyer! O’Conner! Mathis! B-Team is on the way! I need a status report!”

Maggie doesn’t answer. None of them do.

The gun shakes in her hands as she kneels.

She has to find a pulse, even though she knows one won’t be there. 

He’s cold. 

Too cold.

She feels along his neck. 

There isn’t a pulse.

There’s nothing. 

And she sees it then.

The culprit, resting in the congealing crimson.

A bullet. 

It’s green. 

Glows a soft emerald hue in the darkening red.

Kryptonite. 

It’s him.

It’s Clark.

It’s Superman.

The Man of Steel. 

Felled by a single bullet.

She didn’t think that had been possible. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Where is Kara? 

Where is she?

She springs to her feet. 

Vaguely wonders if she should be looking for a body.

But no. She isn’t going to be the one to tell Alex that. 

~Thunk, thunk, thunk ~

The sounds grows louder with every consecutive step.

Until there’s only one possible place it can be emanating from. 

The remaining members of her unit round the corner.

Maggie’s grip on her gun loosens slightly.

She’s alive.

Kara’s alive. 

The blonde faces away from her.

Kneeling over somebody she can’t fully see.

A Cadmus agent by the look of it.

She doesn’t look up at Maggie.

Doesn’t acknowledge any of them.

Instead the blonde raises her fist again.

Her hand glints red in the artificial light.

The blood of the CADMUS agent.

The one who lays completely still beneath her.

And Maggie sees the telltale emerald of the kryptonite cartridge in the gun a few feet away.

Rapidly puts the pieces together. 

Kara throws her fist downward.

~Thunk~

It’s unnerving. 

“Stand down!”

The detective hisses at her compatriots who've cocked their guns, who’ve aimed their weapons at her girlfriend’s younger sister.

They don’t move.

“I. Said. Stand. Down.”

And one by one they lower guns.

The wariness, the nervousness, doesn’t go away.

It’s evident in their demeanor. In the way they hold their guns.

She takes her com out, bringing an instant mute to the voices yelling over the lines. 

She needs focus.

Concentration.

“Supergirl.”

The detective steps forward hesitantly as the blonde, almost robotically, raises her fist again. 

Kara’s breathing heavily. Haggardly. 

And as Maggie inches closer she realizes that the CADMUS agent is beyond gone.

His helmet pulverized, his skull crushed. 

Kara is essentially hitting concrete. 

“Kara.”

The young alien whips around at the sound of her name. 

And their eyes meet.

Neon emerald encompasses her pupils, her irises, the whites of her eyes. 

Barely restrained heat vision. 

The anger, the fear, the uncertainty glows within them.

Maggie raises her hands in surrender. 

Trying to show she’s not a threat. 

Waits for the dull recognition to flit in Kara’s eyes

The emerald color fades gradually. 

And her eyes take on a different quality. An omniscient semblance. 

As if Kara’s looking right through her.

It takes a moment for Maggie to realize that she is. 

Looking right through her.

Through her unit.

Through that crumbling wall behind her. 

At Clark.

With her X-ray vision. 

“No… no. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. Focus on me okay?”

Kara’s not listening. 

Her fist, still raised, begins to tremble. 

And as if a domino effect, the rest of the blonde is trembling.

Quaking in that spot.

Silent tears threaten to spill from her eyes. 

Maggie wishes she could offer words of comfort.

Anything.

But she’s at a loss.

More footsteps sound in the hallway. 

Growing louder. And louder.

The Beta-team must be here.

Alex and J’onn.

“Hey! STAND DOWN!”

She turns away from Kara. 

Back at her unit, who’ve raised their guns once more.

She sees Alex, having approached from the opposite end, see Clark.

Watches her turn towards them and see Kara.

“Oh Kara…”

Then Alex is next to them.

Flat out ignoring anything else in the room.

Focusing solely on her sister.

The blonde’s eyes snap back to present at the sight of the older Danvers sister.

Full of unshed tears.

“K-Kal-el…”

The blonde whispers shakily. 

Alex bites her lip.

Maggie’s heart is breaking,

“I know… I-I’m sorry Kara…”

Kara shoves up from the CADMUS agent then. 

Brings a bloodied hand to cover her mouth, stifling whatever noise threatens to come out.

Maggie realizes then that Kara’s injured too.

She’s limping.

Heavily favoring her right side.

The detective curses herself for not realizing sooner.

“Kara, you’re hurt. You need to let the med team look at you.”

Alex’s tone is forcibly calm. 

Remaining strong for her sister, who’s about two steps away from falling apart.

“No! Kal-el, he needs it more. H-he… T-they need to help him. He n-needs help!”

She thinks he’s still alive.

She has to know that he isn’t….

She has to….

She’s in denial, Maggie realizes. 

Denial.

“Kara… Kal-el, he’s gone…”

That only serves to agitate the blonde further.

Maggie registers the sound of safeties of weapons being clicked off.

“Put your goddamn weapons down!”

Alex screams at the Delta unit.

Kara’s still backing aways. Palming her way along the wall. Using it for support.

“He’s not gone Alex. He’s not! I’m- I’m supposed to protect him. He’s not gone. You need to help him!”

She’s panicking. Hyperventilating. Now that the adrenaline rush is over.

Mumbling something in Kryptonese that Maggie can’t understand.

Over and over again.

“Look at me Kara. Look at me. We’re gonna move Kal-el out of here, but you need to be checked out too. Do you understand?”

Kara refuses to listen. Refuses to answer directly. 

But her knees are shaking as her fight dissolves.

And her weight seems to drop, sliding her down against the wall and onto the floor.

“I can’t hear him, Alex!. Ican’tIcan’tIcan’t-“

Maggie backs away from them.

Back towards her own unit.

Forcing them out of the room.

They’re to trigger happy.

Outside the room, she see’s J’onn and the rest of the B-Team. 

They’re covering Clark’s body with a tarp.

Getting ready to move him.

J’onn’s on the phone with somebody. 

She doesn’t want to know who.

The detective glances back towards the sisters.

Alex is holding Kara’s shaking hands.

Ignoring the blood that drips from them. 

“They shot him, they shot him, they shot them.”

The blonde doesn’t sound like she believes the words she’s saying.

Another sign of shock.

And right now Maggie doesn’t see Supergirl.

She sees Kara Danvers.

Breaking.

And Alex is doing everything she can to placate her.

“Focus my heartbeat okay? On Maggie’s. On Jonn’s okay?”

Why did she agree?

Why did she agree?

They shouldn’t have gone in all guns blazing.

It was stupid.

It was deadly.

“Listen Mon-el’s getting looked at. And we’re going to take Clark, okay? But you have to stay calm, you have to let us help you. Let us help. It’s going to be fine. I promise.”

Maggie watches as Alex breaks one of her own rules then.

Never make a promise you can’t keep.

Mon-el doesn’t make it through the night.


	2. Anger

Winn Schott Jr.

**_Anger_ ** _._

_Day 1_

_Someone’s screaming at him._

_Everyone’s screaming at him._

_But he can’t decipher what the words are conveying._

_He can’t decipher anything._

_He’s frozen._

_Frozen at the computer screens._

_There’s nothing on them now. Nothing but static._

_But it’s not stopping him from staring._

_Not stopping him from replaying the video in his mind._

_Over and over._

_A bullet._

_He just saw a bullet go through Superman’s head._

_But he’s bulletproof. Bullets ricochet off of him._

_But what was… Winn remembers the flash emerald cartridge._

_Remembers the spray of vicious crimson._

_The shrapnel of bone and brains and crimson spurting forward._

_How Clark had fallen. How he hadn’t gotten up. How he hadn’t moved._

_Winn feels people moving around him._

_Shouting things into walkie talkies_

_Shoving him out the way._

_Trying to bring the images back on the fruition._

_Trying to figure out what in the hell just happened._

_But he’s frozen._

_Did he just watch Superman…? Did he just watch him…?_

_“Oh god. Oh my god…”_

_The nausea swirls up, unrestrained, uninhibited._

_Why hadn’t he gotten up?_

_“Supergirl! Winn, what the hell is going on? Winn!”_

_The sound rushes forward. As if someone had released the mute button._

_And then the voices and coherency sweep back to him._

_And the commotion of the DEO._

_And Alex’s voice._

_And J’onn’s._

_And Agent Vasquez._

_And someone screaming over all of that._

_Kara._

_“-can’t access the video feed. There’s something overridi-“_

_He saw it happen._

_Sees it happen._

_No. Nonono-_

_He doesn’t. He can’t._

_He doesn’t really… He doesn’t really know what happens._

_It happens too fast._

_And that sounds strange coming from a self-proclaimed computer tech extraordinaire._

_One whose sole career revolved around rapidly flashing strings of code and images._

_But it happens too damn fast._

_“Winn!”_

_Winn clenches his shaking hands._

_Tries to blink back into focus the desk in front of him._

_Tries to smother overwhelming nausea._

_Tries to comprehend the chaos around him._

_But the scattered memories, swirling around in his temporarily fractured psyche, push forward to the surface of a chaotic situation that hasn’t even had time to well._

_Those damn broken fragments push forward._

_Loosely tie themselves together with weak, fraying threads._

_And force him connect those thoughts._

_But all he sees is red._

_Red and the sudden green flare of a kryptonion cartridge._

_But so much. So much red._

_He’s not a field agent. He should never see that much red._

_He’s not a doctor. But that much red should never come out of anyone._

_He’s not any of those things, but this is._

_Red, red, red._

_And there are voices screaming at him._

_Multiple voices._

_Yelling. Shouting. Jarring._

_Flowing on top of one another._

_Demanding answers._

_But all he can see is red. red. Red._

_Thick pooling red._

_So much red._

_So the voices mean nothing._

_And in that moment, over all of that red and all of those voices, he remembers._

_Clark had a dinner date with Lois that night._

_He doesn’t remember why that’s so important now._

**_“Winn!”_ **

_.. … … … … …_

“Winn.”

He looks away from the static of the video feed. 

Nothing has changed in the sixty minutes since the cameras went out. 

There’s no point in trying to fix it.

The problem isn’t on their end. 

What they see now is a result of what happened on CADMUS’s end.  

A result of melted fuseboxes, wires, and warped glass.

And now that he’s managed to pull himself together.

And because he’s kept his com in the entire time.

He knows exactly how it happened. 

After the initial chaos, everyone knows now.

The facts had been relayed over the lines. To the rest of the facility. To everyone.

Bit by bit the entire storyline of twisted events had gradually been revealed. 

And somehow that’s worse. 

At least before, there was a shaded obscurity. 

At least before, in the panic, no one knew exactly what was happening, what had happened.

At least before, he could lie to himself.

But now they have facts. 

The cold hard truth.

And it leaves behind a heavy, subdued ambience. That is somehow worse than before.

So he looks away from the static of the video feed. 

Up towards Vasquez.

“Medical Evac is on it’s way in. Thought you would want to know.”

Winn knows. But he nods anyway.

And his tongue feels dry in his mouth.

And his heart feels heavy. 

And his fingers threaten to tremble once more.

And he’s angry at himself. 

For reacting the way he did.

He hasn’t seen the others yet.

Hasn’t seen the others who weren’t watching through a computer screen miles and miles away, but instead were right there in the thick of things.

He hasn’t seen Alex. Or Maggie. Or J’onn. Or Kara.

Oh God, Kara.

Mon-el is his friend. But he is Kara’s significant other.

Clark is his idol. But he is Kara’s family.

Was not is. Not anymore. 

What can he say to any of them?

How can he even look them in the eye?

When he froze at the keys.

Froze when it mattered the most.

And wasted precious time because of it.

He stands up with Agent Vasquez.

Moves with her towards the emergency entrance. 

Where he can already hear them disembarking.

Mon-el.

All Winn can see of him is an arm, lying limply off the stretcher, outstretched away from the mass of the EMS personnel trying desperately to do their jobs.

He sees that and the dark crimson that dribbles from the Daxamite.

Dribbles with a sick splatter to the marble floor.

Droplets spreading like hundreds of blooming scarlet flowers in a twisted garden exhibit. 

The dark liquid squelches under the medical team’s feet as they move forward.

Move rapidly towards the medical room reserved specifically for extraterrestrial beings.

Running and working and yelling for blood and saline. 

Spouting off medical terminology he doesn’t understand in that moment.  

And the DEO is respectively silent.

No one moves when they disappear around the corner.

And he doesn’t move either.

Not at first.

Because they know what is to come. 

Everyone’s breath is bated as work continues.

The clinking of coffee cups on the desks, the fluttering of papers, the shuffling of feet, the ringing telephones, the murmuring of voices.

Because the city never sleeps. Especially not now.

… … … ….

Mon-el doesn’t make it.

It is barely one hour later.

One hour after he’d been rushed into the DEO.

Into the place that was supposed to save him. 

The place that was supposed to keep him alive. 

The place that didn’t.

And because no one else is back yet, and because Mon-el was part of his unit, it is he and Vasquez, who receive the news.

The unofficial cause of death is hypovolemic shock, coupled with laryngeal edema.

A fatal combination of ballistic trauma and his allergic reaction to lead. 

The term _hypovolemic shock_ makes it sound much more neat than it is.

He’s not stupid. He knows what it means.

Essentially, Mon-el had lost too much blood.

Which meant his organs hadn’t been getting enough oxygen.

But it didn’t matter anyway because his damn lead allergy had acted up.

Had ensured that his throat had swelled up. Made sure he couldn’t breathe. 

So essentially he suffocated.

Drowned in his own blood. And suffocated. 

And of course, the medics had tried everything they could.

The doctor explains this very well.

Tries to tell them that Mon-el’s death was painless.

That he’d likely stopped feeling any pain after the first few minutes.

As if Winn hadn’t listened to him choke to death through the lines on the coms. 

He looks down.

His friend lies still on the table. 

A pale, azure sheet covers the bullet wounds. 

Covers the grotesque mess the lead had inevitable made of his body.

His face, however, isn’t spared.

The fluorescent light reflects off Mon-el’s shining brow and his bloodshot eyes.

 The skin around them is discolored, maybe tender. 

Under the lamp’s glow he looks too pale. Gaunt. Even starved.

He looks like a corpse…

Because he is one.

Winn swallows hard.

And looks away.

…. … … …. …

Two and a half hours after the first bullet is fired, the rest of ground teams begin to return to base.

J’onn is first, in human form. 

Wearing the grimmest expression Winn has seen on him in a long time. 

Wearing exhaustion and defeat like a coat of armor. 

And behind him…

Is a body bag.

Being wheeled in on a stretcher.

The white tarp is zipped up.

Closed from the world.

But there is no questioning who’s inside.

A quiet hush falls over the DEO as they enter.

Everyone stops working. Everyone looks up to the entrance.

No one is talking now.

And J’onn isn’t either.

He doesn’t even make eye contact.

Little by little more faces appear.

And when Winn sees Kara, he releases the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

The blonde is ghostly pale. 

Limping heavily. Favoring her right side.

There is more red on her uniform than there should be. 

Dark crimson stains stark glaringly in contrast to the light blue fabric under the fluorescent light. 

And because of what he heard earlier on the coms, he knows a some of it must be their’s.

And because the bullets were composed of kryptonite, he knows a some of it must be hers.

And with the way the blonde stumbles forward , he feels like the bullets must still be there.

Must still be effecting her.

Her shaking hands are stained a violent red. 

Crimson concentrates in the folds of her knuckles, making the usually pale crease dark.

But it is her eyes that worry him the most.

Soulless, empty, dull, shuttered.

Like the lights have been shut off. The windows boarded up.

Empty.

Alex is right behind her.

Wanting obviously to do something, wanting to help, but giving Kara her space.

And even though there must be a good damn reason, because no one knows Kara more than her sister, Winn can’t understand why no ones doing more.

Why no one’s helping her.

There is blood on Alex’s hands too, he realizes.

And on Maggie’s as she trails in behind the Danvers sisters.

They are all silent.

Defeated.

Exhausted.

Supergirl doesn’t acknowledge him as she stumbles past.

Too lost in her own world. 

Alex doesn’t either, too focused on her sister.

Ushering her towards the sun bed, no doubt.

J’onn pauses for a moment, and nods his solidarity. 

But it is Maggie Sawyer, the police detective, who steps away from the procession, pulls him aside. 

“Mon-el?”

She asks in a breath of a whisper.

Winn shakes his head.

And the detective sighs. 

Looks to where her girlfriend and her girlfriend’s sister have disappeared. 

Looks back to him with something indecipherable in her eyes.

“You did good today, Winn.”

The computer technician shakes his head.

He doesn’t believe her. 

 

… …. …

Someone calls Clark’s family. 

Johnathan and Martha Kent. 

The DEO sends special transport for them in the early hours of the morning.

For the caring parents who instilled in Clark, his strong sense of morals. 

The caring parents who had found him on the side of the road and raised him as their own. 

The caring parents who have now outlived their son. 

For Lois Lane. 

Clark’s supportive girlfriend. His would-have-been fiancé. 

The tough-as-nails journalist who also works for the Daily Planet.

Known for her jet black hair and piercing green eyes. 

Enamored for her way of getting words out of just about anybody.

And Lucy is there too.

Hugging her sister as she cries. 

Winn stands awkwardly to the side. 

Maggie isn’t there anymore.

She was forced to go complete her debrief process at the precinct. 

So she’d hugged Alex, promised to be back as soon as she could, and left, for lack of a better word, him as the only friend amongst family.

He hadn’t been able to get into contact with Jimmy.

Alex and J’onn greet the Kents solemnly.

And Kara doesn’t even look up from under the lamps. Doesn’t even blink.

She’s been that way since they put her there.

Unmoving and despondent.

Staring emptily at two more deceased loved ones to a laundry list of others who hadn’t deserved to die.

The computer tech had never met Clark’s parents before.

The Kents are much older than Eliza and Jeremiah Danvers.

Thinning grey-white hair, mottled skin, and heavily-lined wizened expressions place them at somewhere between their late seventies and early eighties.

Their crowfeet speak of laughter, of warm smiles and affection.

Their wrinkled foreheads tell of past worries and present.

Their calloused, fragile hands recount years of hard work and care. 

But all he sees right now is pain.

The pain of loosing their only child.

A feeling of agony that no parent should ever face.

And J’onn leads them to where Clark is. 

And Clark’s family shuffles forward.

But J’onn doesn’t lift the sheet.

Tries to reserve some dignity and save them from any additional, unnecessary pain. 

“I need to see him.”

Martha’s voice is frail, wobbly but resolute. 

“Mrs. Kent…”

J’onn murmurs. 

Softly protests because he knows how grisly head wounds are.

“He is my son, J’onn. I need to see him.”

And there are no words that can fight the love a mother has for her child.

So he lifts the sheet.

Winn’s eyes water.

Jonathan holds his wife closer. 

Lois looks away. 

Alex’s jaw clenches. 

And Martha makes a noise. A cross between a devastated cry and pain-filled moan.

And when the words would not come, the tears did.

Kara doesn’t move.

…. …. … …

His phone buzzes once. Then twice. Then dozens of times.

The media have found out.

He doesn’t know how, but they always manage too.

And before the glimmer of the rising sun can even push up onto the horizon, the death of Superman is the number one trending news topic throughout the entire country.

If not the world.

And even without any facts, the gears are turning, the press is printing.

Screaming headlines like:

 

**SUPERMAN DEAD**

 

**MAN OF STEEL HAS FALLEN**

 

**METROPOLIS’S VERY OWN SUPERHERO: KILLED IN ACTION**

 

**AMERICA’S SYMBOL OF JUSTICE AND LIBERTY STRUCK DOWN.**

 

Spouting hastily put together stories that are botched by unknown facts and misconstrued information.

Latching onto the the inevitable panic that will sweep over the public. 

Capitalizing on it. 

And Winn knows not to expect any better.

Like he knows that if he turns to the back pages of Metropolis Daily in the later hours of the news cycle, just before the funnies, but after the sports section, he will read a report that a rising Daily Planet journalist, Clark Kent, has passed away unexpectedly.

A mugging gone wrong. A car crash. A something or other.

Whatever the DEO will come up with for a cover story. 

And he knows that the nation’s citizens won’t really care about that.

Maybe a sympathetic one will sigh over a cup of coffee.

Or tsk tsk and shake their head and say, “It’s a shame, the state of the world today.”

But the media, the world, even the citizens of Metropolis, won’t shed a tear for Clark Kent.

Because he isn’t Superman.

He knows what the media won’t say.

What the media and the papers and won’t say is that Kal-el of Krypton was slain. 

They won’t say he was one of the last surviving descendants of his entire planet.

They won’t say that now there is only one.

They won’t even mention Mon-el’s name.

And it speaks volumes of this society.

That in a world where aliens are real, where the world is more interconnected than ever, and where virtually any microscopic piece of information is at anyone’s fingertips, no one will care who he really was.

Only who he was perceived to be. 

No one will care that someone lost a son.

A cousin.

A lover.

A friend.

No one will care that he was someone, something outside of being a hero. 

But he just knows a hashtag will trend on twitter.

Like he just knows people will march on the streets, to ‘mourn’ in solidarity. 

And the news crews will interview grieving citizens, who might have seen him in the sky once.

And the media will milk it for all its worth.

Because in the end they’re all just vultures, glomming onto the next shiny tragedy like it is their own.

They aren’t mourning him. 

Just the ’S’ on his chest.

And they had taken it all for granted. 

…. …. … …

“Clark was a good man.”

The room is filled with family now.

The elder Danvers have arrived. 

And the family shares their grief together. 

Through stories and condolences. 

“Clark was being stupid.”

The room freezes at the familiar voice.

Holding so much malice and anger.

Kara. 

And he supposes that he should have seen it coming. 

He supposes that they all should have seen it coming.

The unrelenting, uncontrolled anger that came with grief.

The anger, that right now seems like it came from nowhere, but in reality was probably always there, somehow. 

Like it always had been.

Under the surface, buried good and deep like all of her family.

Red kryptonite had revealed it then, her grief was revealing it now.

And he cringes at its ferocity.

Wishes he could make a joke, make everyone laugh, make it all better.

But he can’t. So he doesn’t. 

Those are the first words he’s heard her speak since the entire ordeal.

Winn watches everyone tense at her unexpected input.

And he sees the question marks in their eyes, as they try to figure out if they hear correctly. 

And before anyone can say anything more, she doubles down.

“He was an idiot.”

And the tension is definitely there now.

“Kara…”

Her sister murmurs and moves to touch her arm, but Kara shrinks away and avoids all of their eyes.

Stares right at the floor and plows on.

“No don’t Kara me Alex. He was stupid. You’re the one- You’re the one who says keep your eyes on your surroundings. Have your eyes everywhere. A bullet went through the back of the head Alex. Not the front. He wasn’t looking.”

The blonde scoffs. 

She’s stuttering along as she misplaces her anger. 

It’s not his fault. She has to know it’s not his fault.

“Kara!”

Alex tries again.

Lois looks stricken.

Martha shocked.

Eliza too.

Winn can barely breathe with the tension.

Kara ignores it all.

Instead, metal groans as her fists curl tightly around the edges of table.

“No! You have to be stupid to have super hearing and not hear him coming. To have X-ray vision not **see** him coming!”

Kara angrily jabs a finger in her dead cousin’s direction. 

“You have to be stupid to jump in front of bullets when you’re not bulletproof!” 

She turns to point towards Mon-el, but the lights of the sun lamp are in the way. 

And with one fell swoop, the blonde hits at it.

The light of the sun lamps flickers away instantly.

The bulb shatters.

The resulting glass crackles across the floor.

The metal leaves a large dent in the plaster wall.

And her anger doesn’t stop there.

“Kara, you need to calm down.”

It’s Eliza this time. Soft and soothing.

But the blonde isn’t having any of it.

She slides off the sun table. 

And when Alex reaches for her, Kara bristles.

“I’m cleaning it up okay? I didn’t mean it. I’m cleaning it up.”

The devastation is beginning to seep through her anger.

Her voice is breaking. Cracking. Shattering. 

She sounds miserable and she has every right to be.

Winn is frozen as she watches her pick up broken shards of glass. 

And he knows right away that it isn’t going to work.

She’s holding them too hard. 

The fragments, shatter into smaller and smaller pieces each time she tries to pick them up, until it’s merely dust in her hands.

And her shoulders are shaking with frustration.  

And it’s painfully obvious to see that she’s trying not to cry.

“Kara… It’s okay… ”

His whispered words trail off.  

Anything he was thinking of saying sounds stupid now.

Because nothing is okay right now.

And everyone knows it.

But because anger is easier to feel than sadness, the fury is back full blast. 

So when she’s on her feet again, the anger is directed at him.

“It’s not Winn! It’s not going to be okay! EVERYONE is dead! Everyone dies! Everyone around me dies! Don’t you see that!”

“Kara… Don’t think like that.”

Jeremiah. 

Trying his hand.

“Why not Jeremiah? You’re not my father! My father is dead!  And so is my m-mother! And  Astra! And my entire fucking planet!  And-And n-now K-kal-el! Mon-el wasn’t even Kryptonion, but might as well throw him in!”

Each word is spoken with morbid cynicism. Dripping with devastation and sadness and despair.

“You have us, Kara.”

The blonde’s shaking harder.

Vehemently shaking her head back and forth. 

And murmurs something to herself.

‘I had one job! I was supposed to protect him! And I couldn’t even do that.’

Her eyes downcast, filled with anger and despair.

“You shouldn’t have listened to me!”

She mutters.

And the second part of her despair is revealed.

It was Kara after all, who suggested going in all guns blazing.

“You shouldn’t h-have- you shouldn’t h-h-have- y-you- y-you…”

And the anger behind the dam is broken. And there are tears.

Alex hugs her then.

Let’s Kara cry into her shoulder. 

And the blonde can’t even hug her back.

She’s too damn strong.

_…. …. … … … …_

Winn remembers listening to their bantering over the coms. 

Just an hour before the first godforsaken bullet had been fired

Because no matter how serious the stakes have gotten….

No matter how tired and worn out they were. No matter how many battles lost.  

His friends always managed to keep things light. 

“ _Can’t be getting to riffed up on this, I have a dinner date tonight.”_

_“Why don't we ever go on dinner double dates, Kal? Mon-el and I love food!”_

_Mon-el chuckles somewhere in the background._

_Sounds muted in the distance. His listening device must not be turned on yet._

_Winn could have sworn it was on earlier._

_“He probably doesn’t want to overwhelm her, Kara. There is no restaurant big enough to support the appetites of two Kryptonians and a Daxamite. And it’s already a horror show watching you eat.”_

_Alex teases lightly. Loud and clear._

_“Hey! Then you and Maggie can come too! Make it a triple date. So the oh-so-human Lois Lane can have some company!”_

_“Kara!”_

_Because Lois Lane’s identity can’t be compromised over Kara’s inability to keep her mouth shut._

_“Don’t worry, Alex the lines aren’t fully open yet.”_

_“Cuz, in my defense, I only came into the fold about your relationship a month ago. But tonight’s a special night. Our triple date’s going to have to wait.”_

_There’s a pause over the lines as that information sinks in._

_Then Kara laughs._

_“Tonight’s the night?”_

_“Tonight’s the night.”_

_Enthusiastic congratulations are offered from just about everybody, as Clark sheepishly tries to shrug it off._

_And Winn gawks as he spins in his chair, tries to picture Superman as a married man._

_“People we have a mission to focus on.”_

_J’onn J’onzz ._

_An awkward silence reigns over the coms._

_The strain is back._

_The stress is real._

_The solemn awareness is heavy._

_“However, as Martian Manhunter, I give you my formal congratulations.”_

And he remembers opening the lines to the rest of the teams.

Remembers contributing his own jokes from home base with Vasquez. With Spencer. With Barrett.

On who would get the most hits. 

Clark or Kara or J’onn. 

Because it was the first time all three would be working together.

_He’d been betting on Clark._

Remembers the laughter. 

It makes him sick to think of it now. 

Disgusted.

And he remembers those final minutes of that grainy video footage.

Remembers watching with awe as various CADMUS agents were disarmed and dismantled.

By DEO agents. By Mon-el. By Superman. By Supergirl.

He remembers.

A lot can happen in twenty four hours. 

Time is fickle.

Time waits for no one. 

 

And neither does death.

 

 


End file.
